Dark Guardian (Black Hoods MC Book 3) Read online

  Contents

  Dedication

  1. Grace

  2. Judge

  3. Grace

  4. Judge

  5. Grace

  6. Judge

  7. Grace

  8. Judge

  9. Grace

  10. Judge

  11. Grace

  12. Judge

  13. Grace

  14. Judge

  15. Grace

  16. Judge

  17. Grace

  18. Judge

  19. Grace

  20. Judge

  21. Grace

  22. Judge

  23. Grace

  24. Judge

  25. Grace

  26. Judge

  27. Grace

  28. Judge

  29. Grace

  30. Judge

  Epilogue

  The Series

  About Avelyn Paige

  Also by Avelyn Paige

  About Geri Glenn

  Also By Geri Glenn

  Dark Guardian © 2020 Avelyn Paige & Geri Glenn

  Copyright notice: All rights reserved under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.

  Dark Guardian

  Grace Halfpenny has devoted her entire life to her career as a social worker. Always playing by the rules. Always going all in. Falling in love is the last thing Grace had time for.

  Eugene “Judge” Grant is the president of the Black Hoods MC. A hardass son of a bitch, thanks to the scars of his past. Love is the last thing Judge believed in.

  Two people on two very different paths. Until...

  Two kids, orphaned and alone with a past that mirrored Judges’ own, come along, not only needing him, but Grace too.

  And when the kids’ dark past comes looking for them, Grace and Judge must put their differences aside in order to save them.

  To moonshine for getting us through the first leg of the pandemic.

  Tequila don’t let us down for the second.

  Grace

  “You don’t understand, ma’am. I’ve filled out every single sheet of paperwork this office has asked me to provide. Why won’t you release the information to me?” the man sitting on the other side of my desk pleads, his story the same as so many others.

  And ma’am? Really? Am I so old now that a man, no more than ten years my junior, thinks of me as ma’am? Is forty the new fifty? I don’t dare think of what my clients will call me when I hit that milestone. Granny? Old Bitty? The thought makes me shudder.

  “Mr. Jackson, I’m sorry, but my hands are tied. There are rules we have to follow.” I straighten in my chair. “You need to wait for your court date. That’s all there is to it. Your attorney should have informed you of that.”

  “I’m tired of waiting. I tried to do this without the courts. I submitted my DNA to some online database for kids looking for family and got nothing. This my only option, and you won’t give me what I came for?”

  “I’m sorry,” I force out, trying to keep my voice calm. “I know you’ve been looking for your parents for a long time, but there’s only so much I can do.”

  I notice his hands balling into fists on top of my desk. He’s angry. Furious, actually, but it changes nothing. He’d have more luck pulling a white rabbit out of a magic hat than getting the answers he so desperately wants from me. Answers I don’t have authority or permission to share.

  “You don’t want to help me,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “I have a right to know.”

  “Whether it’s your right or not, I can’t help you without a court order to release the information. The records were sealed. I can’t unseal them without approval.”

  “This is bullshit!” His eyes, pleading with my compassionate side just moments ago, now flash with fury. I myself have questioned over the last few years if compassion still exists after seeing so many families torn apart in some form or another. This place hardens even the gentlest of people. Social work is not for the faint of heart, and boy, have I learned that the hard way.

  “Please, watch your language. This is a place of business,” I admonish him quietly. He goes to argue with me, but I quickly raise my hand to cut off his tirade. “As I explained to you the last time you scheduled an appointment with my office, this is in the court's hands. Wait for your court date, then we’ll proceed from there.”

  “All I’ve done is wait.”

  “I understand that. Believe me, I do. But there’s nothing more I can do. It’s in the hands of the judge. Your attorney should have notified you of that.”

  “My attorney assured me this would be an easy process, though it’s been far from it. Is there anyone else I can speak to?”

  “You can take this up with the supervisor, but he’s not going to bend the rules for you, either. Stay the course and wait until your court date.”

  Defeated, he slides his hands off the desk and slumps back into his chair. If I had the ability to help him with his query, I’d remove the file from the locked records room and hand it over without batting an eye, but I have to follow the rules set forth by the courts or risk losing my job, which is something I cannot do. Jeopardizing it for one person affects the dozens of children in the case files scattered across my desk. Our department has always been understaffed, and with opioid use on the rise, more and more children are becoming wards of the state, so we’re stretching ourselves even thinner. It’s a dangerous game of chance when a child’s life is at stake in an abusive home.

  In Mr. Jackson’s case, the names of his birth parents don't fall into the “emergency” category. He’s an adult. If he were a child, it would be a different story, but he’s not. There’s nothing I can do except offer my sympathy and pray it will be enough until the court makes a decision.

  He’s silent, but I can see the wheels turning in his head. He wants to beg me, offer me something that could tempt me into breaking the rules, but it’s not going to work. He knows that from the last time he tried it.

  “Is there anything else I can help you with today?”

  His eyes harden, turning cold, dark. “No.” Getting to his feet, he spins on one foot and storms out of my office.

  I count to ten before I allow myself to sigh in relief. Days like today are never easy. Every person who walks through the doors of our office thinks that if they press hard enough, we’ll cave, giving them all the answers to cheat the system. That’s not how it works. I’m bound by the governance of the State of Texas, and I won’t bypass the laws in place to protect my clients’ information.

  Hearing a knock at the door, I peer up to find Cindy, one of the other social workers in my branch, dressed in a pink tailored business suit, her gray curls springing off the side of her head in multiple directions.

  “How’d court go?” I inquire. The case she’d been assigned to has been particularly difficult these past few weeks, with four young souls separated into different foster homes while their grandm
other fought for custody.

  “Judge ruled against the grandmother.” Cindy’s eyes soften as a single tear glides down her cheek, her reaction mirroring my own. No one in our line of work is impervious to the painful things we so often see.

  “That’s too bad.”

  The children’s elderly grandmother stepped up the second her wayward son had been arrested for a drug charge, but she lives in an assisted living community that doesn’t allow children. I had a feeling the court would rule against her, being that she had no means of finding alternative housing, as well as her medical ailments. It’s one of the few parts of this job that still bothers me after all these years, seeing the heartbreak of families being torn apart under circumstances such as this. As hard as they try, it’s just not enough in the eyes of the court of law.

  “So, how was your meeting with Mr. Jackson? I saw him as I was coming back from the court. He looked… pleasant,” she asks with a smirk. Pleasant. Not the exact term I would use to describe him. A thorn in my side would be more apt.

  “He’s not happy that I couldn’t push through his request prior to the court date.”

  “I wish they would realize our power is limited. We’re caseworkers, not magicians. We can’t just wave a magic wand and poof! The judge makes a ruling in their favor.”

  The image makes me laugh. No wand on Earth would make a judge work any faster. And with some of the judges in our county, I’d rather use the wand to dismiss them than summon them like the devils they are, especially the one assigned to Mr. Jackson’s case. Judge McAdams is a stubborn man when it comes to child service cases. His track record is far from great. I can count on one hand the number of times he’s ruled in the loving parent’s favor.

  “Me too, Cindy, but it’s easier to berate the messenger, it seems.”

  Looking at her watch, she smiles. “Almost quitting time. Got any big plans this weekend?”

  Plans? Me? You’d think after six years of working together, Cindy would know me better than that. My work comes first. I can’t just switch it off when I walk out the door like everyone else. The children stay with me every waking moment of the day, and even when I close my eyes. These kids need me. I can’t let my hair down, so to speak, because the second I do, something will happen, and I won’t be there in time to protect them.

  “The usual. You?”

  “My husband and I are heading to the Gulf for a weekend getaway.”

  “Must be nice,” I mutter under my breath, but she thankfully doesn’t catch it, or doesn’t acknowledge it. It’s been at least ten years since my last vacation. Maybe even longer than that. I’ve lost more paid vacation time for not using it than I’ve probably used, but there’s no point in taking a trip if it’s just me. I can be alone in my own house for far cheaper.

  “I hope you both enjoy your time away. Do you need me to cover anything for you?”

  “No, but I appreciate you asking. I worked late the last few nights so everything was caught up before I left. My court date today was the last thing on my to-do list.”

  “Well, if anything comes up—.”

  “I know, you’ll cover it,” she interjects. “But I wish you’d take some time off for yourself. Between this and all your volunteer work, you deserve it.”

  “I appreciate that, but you know I can’t.”

  “One of these days, I’m going to convince you to do it.”

  “You always say that, and it never works.”

  “One day, it will.” Winking, she pats the folders resting on her arm. “I better get these files into the system. Mark will kill me if I work late tonight. You have a wonderful weekend.”

  “You, too.”

  Spinning on her heels, she disappears, leaving me to finish up a few more things before the alarm on my phone goes off. Shit, it’s already six. If I don’t hurry, I’ll be late for my date with Greg. The last time I was late, he was an absolute bear. Not that his mood is ever really cheerful.

  Grabbing my things, I shut off the remaining lights in the office and lock the door behind me, praying that traffic will be light as I make my way to the car.

  Judge

  “Come on, guys!” I call up the stairs for the third time. “You’re gonna be late for your first day!” I never thought I’d ever say those words, but here I am, instant father to two very traumatized kids.

  Kevin comes thumping down the steps first, pulling his shirt over his head. “Sorry,” he mumbles, brushing past me and plopping his ass down into a kitchen chair. “Didn’t sleep so good last night.”

  I watch him for a moment. “What’s going on, son?”

  Shrugging, he peers at the empty plate in front of him. “Just nervous, I guess.”

  Poor fucking kid. He’d been through more shit at sixteen than most grown men I know, and he’s still here, powering on, taking care of his sister, and trying to give them both a good life. His shit past will make him into a good father someday.

  “Where’s Nat?”

  Kevin worries his lower lip between his teeth. “Uh, she’s coming. She was just trying to look her best, I think.” She and Lindsey had picked out her outfit over a week ago. I know girls can be finicky about their clothes, but as many bags as the two of them brought into the house from the mall, she has more than enough options. My credit card is proof of that.

  I sigh. Kevin’s a shit liar.

  “Eat,” I order, pointing at the plates in the center of the table piled high with scrambled eggs, toast, and sausages. I admit, I went overboard, but both kids are skin and bones, and I’ll be damned if I send them off to their first day at a new school on an empty stomach.

  Leaving Kevin to his breakfast, I take the stairs two at a time, glancing at the clock on my phone as I get near the top. Shit.

  “Nat, honey, ya gotta hurry. We need to leave in a few minutes.”

  “Coming.” The bathroom door at the end of the hall muffles her reply, but not enough that I can’t hear the sadness in her voice.

  I move toward the door and tap it a few times with my knuckle. “Everything okay in there, kiddo?”

  I hear her sniff. “Um, yeah. I just…”

  “You just what, Nat? What’s going on?” I grip the knob and twist it gently, when what I really want to do is rip the whole damn thing off its hinges. “Open this door.”

  Hearing her quiet sobs, I take in a deep breath and blow it out slowly, preparing myself for the worst. I listen as her hand rests on the knob, and without a word, she pulls the door open.

  Her face is red, her eyes puffy and swollen. Her hair is in some sort of a twist at the side of her head, but even I know that’s not right.

  “I just can’t get my hair right,” she cries, her sobs now chest-wracking gasps.

  She looks so tiny for a twelve-year-old. The kids at her new school are going to tower over her, and I hate the idea of leaving her there. She’s so broken, so soft-hearted. Maybe she’s not ready. I know Lindsey says to try, that she needs to interact with her peers and rediscover what it’s like to be a normal kid, but she’s not a normal fucking kid. Not after what she’s been through.

  “Can you braid hair, Mr. Judge?”

  Mr. Judge. I don’t know how many times I’ve told her to call me plain Judge, or even by my actual name, but she continues to call me Mr. Judge. And I’m not gonna lie, I kinda like it. It’s special, something between just the two of us. “I can’t say I do, shug. I’ve never had much of a reason to learn.”

  Sighing, she pulls the elastic band from her hair. I watch, my heart cracking a little more as she stares at her own reflection in the mirror and runs a brush through her locks. “I guess down is good enough,” she whispers.

  The sadness in her voice pisses me off, but not at her. Never at her. I’m pissed at her pervert uncle, the man who did this to her. I’m pissed at the legal system that allowed it to happen. I’m pissed at all the men who have ever looked upon this child with anything other than fatherly affection. And most of all, I’m pissed I nev
er learned how to fucking braid hair.

  She places the brush down on the counter and turns to me, her lips pushed up into a smile that isn’t fooling anyone. “Ready.”

  “Maybe you shouldn’t go to school today.” I hate the thought of dropping her off when I know she’s struggling.

  Natalie’s eyes soften as she peers up at me. “I’m okay. Promise.”

  I want to believe her. I think she even wants to believe it herself. She’s trying to put on a brave face, but maybe Lindsey is wrong about this. Maybe it's too soon to force her back to school.

  “Hey, Nat, come eat.” Kevin stands at the top of the stairs, motioning for his sister to get her ass in gear. “We gotta leave in five minutes, and I don’t want to be late.”

  Without another word, she pushes past me and descends the stairs behind her brother. I watch their backs as they go, marveling at the strength they’ve both shown since coming to live with me. But the one thing they don’t understand yet is, they don’t have to be strong. Not anymore. I’m strong enough for all three of us.

  And if anyone upsets either of them today, I’ll show that strength when I rip some fucking heads off.

  Kevin and I both watch as she pushes her food around on her plate, only nibbling on a piece of toast until I announce that it’s time to leave.

  The kids pile into my pickup truck without a word. A few minutes later, we’re standing out front of their school. They look so damn lost in the sea of teenagers as they stare up at the large building, their backpacks hanging from their shoulders.